


Forgiving

by sarahenany



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 11:01:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahenany/pseuds/sarahenany
Summary: In which Hiccup and Toothless each muse on the other's forgiving nature. Shameless schmoop. You know that doesn't wash off.





	Forgiving

“Life’s good, huh, bud?”

Toothless chirps in agreement. Hiccup grins at the sound – sometimes Toothless is so adorable that his heart can barely hold it – and snuggles closer to his warm black side, skritching his head happily. He’s sitting with his back against a tree, Toothless curled up next to him in the grass like a cat sunning itself. Lazily, the dragon’s tail flicks in the sun, the jaunty red tailfin throwing a shadow across Hiccup’s face for a moment.

As Toothless settles his tail to curl around him, Hiccup swallows. The sight of the tailfin has reminded him of something he’d rather forget: the forgiveness he never earned and still knows he doesn’t truly deserve.

Toothless chirps. _You okay?_

“Yeah, bud,” Hiccup rubs a hand over the dragon’s head, “everything’s fine.” Toothless, he can tell, isn’t _completely_ convinced, but he lets it slide, closing his beautiful green eyes and relaxing. Hiccup’s own eyes are still fixed on the red tailfin.

The fact is, Hiccup is in awe of his partner’s forgiving nature.

It’s not a thought he likes to dwell on, because it’s the greatest regret of his life – crippling his best friend – but when he does, it always strikes him all over again. Toothless must have known, even back then, that Hiccup was the one who threw the bola – how could he not? It smelled of Hiccup, he had his hands all over the thing and the launcher: the weights, the ropes, every inch of it had Hiccup’s scent on it. As if that wasn’t enough, he was the only Viking who came, which meant the snare was his. Toothless lay in the forest for a night and half a day with no-one coming to look, and then Hiccup came—the only Viking who would have known to look for a downed Night Fury off Raven’s Point. Toothless is many things, but stupid? Not one of them.

And to cap it all off, Hiccup, in his stupid ignorance – what he thinks of as Himself Before –  gloated about it _in front of Toothless_ , and Toothless understands Norse. “I have brought down this mighty beast,” he crowed, like a damned idiot. So yeah, no two ways about it: Toothless knows.

And that’s what awes Hiccup. Toothless was not only downed by him – he undid that by setting him free – but _Hiccup cut off a part of his body._

And Toothless forgave him.

He forgave him so utterly that he let him ride on his back, shared his flight and his life with Hiccup; forgave him so utterly that he made an insane run from Raven’s Point to the village, leaping into a cage full of bloodthirsty Vikings to save Hiccup’s life – Hiccup still recalls how he was shoved behind the dragon’s wings, how Toothless reared up, defending him – forgave him so utterly that he fought with him, never left his bedside as he lay half-dead, stuck close by his side as he learned to walk all over again… forgave him so utterly that he offered his friendship with no trace of bitterness, with such openheartedness and love that it still shocks Hiccup sometimes when he takes the time to think about it.

How can any creature be so forgiving?

Toothless turns onto his back and squirms lazily in the sun, exposing his belly to the warm rays. Hiccup’s chest aches with love for a moment. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Toothless, and, he knows, nothing Toothless wouldn’t do for him. But the difference is, there was a time when there was nothing he wouldn’t do _to_ Toothless. Was it the same on the dragons' side of the battle? Would the dragon have killed him? Logically, he supposes the answer is yes.

Hiccup reaches out and brushes a hand over Toothless’ sun-dappled stomach; then, on a sudden impulse, he lists to the side and drops sprawling across his friend, both hands stroking the warm, velvety skin. Toothless turns his head to the side and gives Hiccup a joyous lick. In the mood he’s in, Hiccup is even more mystified and awed. “You’re amazing, bud,” he says under his breath. Could _he_ be as magnanimous as his friend? Could he, Hiccup, forgive someone who shot him down and crippled him?

The question nags at his brain. Could he? Hiccup tries to imagine if his leg had been intentionally lopped off by Toothless in… he has to think for a moment to come up with a parallel scenario… “…let’s say in a dragon raid,” he mutters.

 _Huh?_ Toothless gives a curious honk.

“Just thinking.” Hiccup rubs his face against Toothless’ soft stomach. It gurgles, and he chuckles, feeling his smiling cheek squish up against his friend’s belly. He closes his eyes. What if Toothless had swooped down on him and chomped off his leg on purpose? Could Hiccup not only forgive him, but embrace him? Accept his overtures? Make him into – he swallows, because it still awes him every time he thinks about it – his best friend?

Hiccup can’t help the vague thought in the back of his mind that he’d forgive Toothless anything, even if the dragon took it into his head to bite him in half, but that’s because Toothless is _already_ his best friend. Besides, Toothless is a predator: he hunts to live. But a hunter with blood-lust, maiming him for the sole reason that he wants to score some glory among his peers… Hiccup’s eyes snap open. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel he deserves to be lying here in the warmth of Toothless’ friendship.

 _What’s wrong?_ Toothless vocalizes mournfully as Hiccup sits up. Hiccup ignores it, sitting back up against the tree-trunk. The dragon flounders around on his back and flips to his feet, pushing his head into Hiccup’s lap. But Hiccup can’t respond. _Odin,_ Hiccup buries his head in his hands, _how shallow and thoughtless was I? I did this to him so I could get popular and get a date._

_And he FORGAVE me!_

“What kind of—person—are you?” he asks desperately, looking down into the wide green eyes filled with nothing but concern and affection. He forces his voice to calm. “How can you forgive me, Toothless?” he asks in a more rational tone. “For this?” He fingers the red tail-fin where Toothless has brought his tail up to curl around him. “I don’t know how you ever forgave me. How you found it…” He swallows. “How you found it in you to forgive me. I don’t know how you could even stand to look at me.”

Toothless is looking up at him with narrowed eyes and one corner of his mouth drawn up in a rather sardonic smile. “Oh sure, laugh at me.” Hiccup is starting to feel resentful now. “I still don’t know how you do it.”

Toothless gives him the half-lidded gaze that’s the dragon-equivalent of rolling his eyes. Then he focuses purposefully. _Here._

Hiccup allows Toothless to nose at his side, searching, until he comes away with the small dagger that Hiccup keeps in his belt for emergencies. He flips it in the air – “Showoff,” Hiccup makes the obligatory jab – to catch the blade in his teeth, hilt extended to Hiccup. “Okay, I’m with ya, bud.” Obediently, Hiccup takes the handle in his hand. It isn’t the first time Toothless has resorted to a charade to convey a complex concept to Hiccup. “What now?”

Slowly, almost ritualistically, Toothless curls into himself in Hiccup’s lap so that all his four paws and tail are within Hiccup’s arm’s reach. He brings his tail round, angling it to lay his one remaining living tailfin in Hiccup’s lap. He lifts Hiccup’s knife-hand in one gentle paw. Then, somewhat awkwardly, he pushes his flesh tailfin forward, offering it up to Hiccup’s knife.

Hiccup freezes.

For emphasis, Toothless fusses with his paws, angling his tail just so, pushing Hiccup’s knife-hand down until the sharp edge of the blade meets the join of tail and membrane, so close that Hiccup pushes back against his friend's guiding forepaw in fear. But Toothless’ eyes meet Hiccup’s and he nods. _Go ahead. Cut it off. It’s yours._

Time stands still.

Hiccup cries out, an inarticulate yell, scrambling to his feet and scrabbling backwards, knocking Toothless off his lap. His whole body is convulsing inwardly, stomach roiling. He flings the knife across the glade with violent disgust. “Toothless!” he all but shrieks. “How—how could you ever—” He throws himself down to the grass and buries himself in his best friend, wrapping his arms around his neck. “I would never… I could never—How could you—Why would you…” He rubs himself desperately against Toothless, trying to get closer, his heart aching. “No, bud, no. No. I’d never… I would never…” He chokes.

 _I would lose my other fin to keep you,_ Toothless has just told him. _You could cut it off – cut off any part of me you wanted to – and I’d still love you,_ he’s saying. And for the life of him Hiccup can’t understand why. He can’t understand what could possibly merit all this love, all this loyalty, even though the dragon is clearly sincere: Hiccup doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve any of it. “I _hurt_ you, for Thor’s sake!” he moans, confessing into the warm scales. “I cut off your tail. I don’t deserve you.”

And when he says that, warm wings come round to enfold him. _Yes, you do. There’s no-one I’d rather have within these wings._ His friend’s arms and legs come round to embrace him, in a way that always feels like he’s been here before, but can’t quite place. _You’re mine. I love you. I want you with me._ Toothless croons, a little sad and anxious. _Never leave me._

It’s this that chases away the last wisps of Hiccup’s doubt. “Never, bud,” Hiccup vows, cocooned in his best friend’s limbs and wings and love. “Never.” Toothless need never doubt his affection. His friend wants him there – needs him there – and there’s no place in the world he’d rather be. “I won’t leave you.” In the soft, safe darkness, he presses his cheek to Toothless’ beating heart, the strong living beat sending such love surging through him that it forces a small sound from his throat. His heart sings as he wraps his arms around as much of Toothless as he can reach. “I won’t let you go.”

Toothless purrs, almost smiling. He relaxes his embrace, clearly exhausted from all the heavy emotions and gearing up for a nice nap.

Hiccup can push his way out of the embrace now, if he wants to. Instead, he lies there, stunned, his friend’s heartbeat pulsing comfortingly against his cheek. He couldn’t have imagined… He shivers, making Toothless purr and tighten his hold again, at the memory of his friend offering up his flesh to Hiccup’s knife. He knows how much Toothless cares for him, but _this…_

Humbled, Hiccup makes a new vow. He’s always going to respect and admire the dragon’s towering capacity for forgiveness, but from now on, he’ll do all he can not to sully it with doubts and thoughts of deserving. His wild predator friend’s love is given fully, freely, out of the magnificence and generosity of Toothless’ own spirit. The least Hiccup can do is try, as best he can, to return that love untainted by grief or guilt.

He tickles his friend’s tummy. He never promised not to get his goat, though…

Shrieking and play-fighting with Toothless in the sun five minutes later, Hiccup is far from any thoughts of forgiveness or transgression. But one thought remains: He knows he can never, ever be like his best friend, with the generosity of spirit that allows him to forgive so utterly, without regard for his own wrongs. He just prays to Freyja that he may one day be one-tenth as good and pure as his friend is.

* * *

 

“He’s over there!”

“Hey, guys, we found him!”

“Goofing off with Toothless, why am I not surprised?”

Toothless blinks up lazily as Hiccup’s friends surround them. In Hiccup’s scent, he can detect the faintest undertone of _prepare-to-flee_ before it fades to _familiarity-greeting._

And for the hundredth time, he’s astounded by his friend’s forgiving nature.

Toothless isn’t sure how long they spent as secret friends, especially since at first he vehemently denied that they were friends for… well, longer than he cares to admit. But it was more than a moon-cycle, perhaps two or three. And during that time, he learned a lot.

Humans talk. They talk when they think someone’s listening, and sometimes when they don’t, but what’s inside them is so urgent that they need to let it out _somehow._ And Hiccup talked to Toothless, on long, warm days when there was nothing to do but laze about in the sun, when some adjustment had been made to the flying rig that could only be worked on tomorrow. He’d talked to him when he came to him fresh from some humiliation in the village, before he started becoming popular among his peers.

He’d talk to him about how everyone wanted him gone. How nobody cared if he was around, except to belittle and humiliate him. Oh, he didn’t say it that way, but the treatment he described… It was the treatment afforded the outcast of the pack, even though – astonishingly – Hiccup told Toothless that he was the son of the village’s Alpha. “Useless,” he muttered once, his expressive voice and eyes dull and lifeless. “Snotlout said I should have died when I was a baby.” Toothless growled, fire building in his throat despite himself. But Hiccup just gestured with one small, fragile hand. “No, bud, he was right. Seriously, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, but I hurt you. Just like I hurt everyone, ruin everything.” He sighs, a broken sound that twisted Toothless’ heart to hear it. “Everyone would have been better off. _I’d_ have been better off.”

Shocked, Toothless stared at Hiccup. Long ago, other dragons had warned him that humans were so crazy, so very insane, that dragons should stay away from them for fear their minds be poisoned by the sickness in them. _They have enemies inside their own heads,_ an old Stormcutter had whispered. _They need no predator; they prey on themselves. And each other, of course._ It had sounded, back then, like a tale to frighten hatchlings, something told on long, cold winter nights. But Hiccup’s broken confessions touched something… “Should have been eaten instead of my mom. My dad would still have her and he’d be happy. If I’d just disappeared as a baby—”

That time, Toothless wasn’t able to stand it anymore. He leapt to Hiccup’s side, grunting and howling in distress, licking the little fledgling and trying to make him understand that _nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing_ would be better if he _ever_ disappeared. And eventually, Hiccup smiled, that time. “I know you care, bud. I don’t deserve you.” Toothless growled at that and nosed Hiccup’s tunic up to lick at his stomach, making the little human shriek with laughter. “Okay, okay! I give up! You win!”

But still he saw the fault in himself, not in others. “It’s not their fault, I guess,” he said another time, softly, still smarting from more harsh words, more insults. “All I do is cause trouble. All I do is ruin things.”

Toothless stuck the tailfin in his face and waggled it. _You made this._

But Hiccup was inconsolable. “All I did was fix what I broke. You can’t even fly without me. Some friend. I hurt you and you—Guh!” Toothless cut that short by licking his face, again and again, until Hiccup burst out laughing and started batting him away. But when they were done laughing, Toothless gestured to the saddle, which Hiccup had taken off. He ran his tongue over the tiny stitches, finer than anything a dragon could even imagine, the crosshatched pattern of leather. He looked from the workmanship to Hiccup. _How can you say you do nothing, when you made this?_

And his little human smiled. “Aw, Toothless. You always make me feel better.” He pressed his soft human cheek to him. “Gobber likes my work, too.”

Toothless remembers deciding, way back before he ever met Gobber, that any Viking who valued Hiccup was a Viking he wanted to meet.

Then there were the times Hiccup came to Toothless bleeding.

Toothless remembers the way his heart slammed in his chest the first time. The instant he smelt his human child’s blood, his heart-fire burst through him, searing away every last resistance to claiming this small human as his own. He threw back his head and shrieked: _Mine! Mine to protect, mine to care for, mine to defend!_

He knows now, as he knew then, that Hiccup misunderstood his scream of _Mine,_ offered up to the great dome of the sky, but no matter. The human thought it only a cry of distress. But it wasn’t to Hiccup that he made his claim. It was only the great Wind and Sky, only Earth and Water and Fire, only the Moon and Stars, that needed to know he had bound himself to this small creature. It was before them that he pledged himself to the human, vowed to protect him with his life.

He remembers darting to Hiccup’s side, nosing and sniffing and ignoring the weak little hands on his snout and Hiccup’s breathy and pained protestations that he was okay. Toothless’ examination revealed that the side of Hiccup’s face was reddened and bleeding under the skin – humans called it a ‘bruise’ – and that there were similar marks on his bird-boned ribcage, where some human’s blow had torn his flesh. It was there that the blood flowed. Toothless sniffed out who had made it, so he knew who to kill. (He’d been confused back then, because the scent said _human-fledgling Hiccup-kin,_ and what sense did it make that a member of Hiccup’s family would be the one to hurt him?) Then he nosed the human’s tunic up and licked his wounds thoroughly, purring to him, easing him into the cradle of his wings where he could rest and heal. He can still remember Hiccup’s involuntary whimpers melting into murmurs and sighs of relief as Toothless took care of him and comforted him. “Thanks, Toothless,” he sighed. “You’re the best friend I ever had…” Then, he swallowed. “They don’t mean it, you know.” Cupped in Toothless’ wing, bruised baby-human face carefully cradled in Toothless’ arm, Hiccup turned towards him, meeting his eyes earnestly. “They think they’re just kidding. They don’t realize it hurts, or they wouldn’t do it.”

Toothless remembers growling, back then, and holds back his growl now. Those friends don’t deserve Hiccup, the world’s kindest, sweetest, most forgiving human. There were other attacks since then. Toothless has licked the wounds those ‘friends’ put on Hiccup; he’s nursed Hiccup through the aches and bruises they inflicted upon him; even Astrid, Hiccup’s current mate, Toothless witnessed beating Hiccup with a heavy wooden weapon, and Hiccup himself was the one to shield her from Toothless’ vengeance, even as the bruises she put on him were still swelling under his skin.

Toothless has witnessed much: he’s heard his little human’s pained sobs at being called ‘useless,’ over and over until he believed it, and seen the secret tears Hiccup shed, mourning the friendship that might have been. He still can’t quite credit that they had this treasure in their midst, and crushed and damaged it almost beyond Toothless’ ability to preserve, almost beyond the endurance of the small human himself – the strongest soul, human or dragon, Toothless has ever encountered – and never realized it was a treasure, not until he proved himself in battle. As if they needed a battle to see the courage in this frail little human. As if the fiery filament of his will that makes him unbreakable requires brute strength for proof.

Yet Hiccup forgives them. Forgives them, and calls them friends.

Toothless would almost call it an affront to their own friendship, were he not aware that Hiccup is friends with him as he is friends with Hiccup: they are each other’s half. They are friends in the pulse of every heartbeat, to the depths of the ocean, to the place in the sky where the air thins and there is no more breath. To the last breath, and beyond. _That_ is friendship. He knows humans use the term much more casually, and so he has no real qualms about Hiccup calling his former attackers his ‘friends.’

But he’s still in awe of whatever it is in Hiccup that brings him to forgive them.

Toothless holds them in some kind of regard, now, based on Hiccup’s trust of them. Every time one of them does something for Hiccup, he allows his regard to settle, to take root just a little more.

But he doesn’t consider himself obligated to forgive anyone who ever touched a hair on Hiccup’s head. If they grovel for long enough, and realize the error of their ways – like the boy’s father – Toothless _might_ consider it. And yes, the father has atoned for much, but the misery that clung to Hiccup every time he got the ‘disappointment’ speech will take a while longer to dispel. Still, Toothless considers him a candidate for forgiveness. The forgiveness that Hiccup lavished on him without a second thought, or a care.

Which brings him back to the start: He is in awe of Hiccup’s forgiving nature.

As Hiccup’s friends gather around them and break into human speech, he joins their gathering, still wary, but his wariness decreasing with each passing day. He knows he could never, ever be like his best friend, with the generosity of spirit that allows him to forgive so utterly, without regard for his own wrongs. He prays to the Moon that he may one day be one-tenth as good and pure as his friend is.


End file.
